Political Food for Thought
by Fic Fairy
Summary: An A to Z of culinary themed drabbles for no reason other than the fact I like a challenge.  Various characters, themes and pairings.  Feedback not only appreciated but begged for!
1. A is for Apples

A is for Apple (Jed Bartlet / Mrs Landingham)

**Apples & Cookies**

It was usual, at least once a day, for Mrs Landingham to offer the President a piece of fruit from the bowl that sat on her desk. He would have preferred one of her cookies, she knew that, but she also knew the importance of getting your five a day, and no one needed the five a day more than the President of the United States of America did. And so, this particular day was no different. He sauntered in, eyeing up the cookie jar like the spoilt child that he was, and yet, she held firm, looked him straight in the eye and...

"Would you like an apple Sir?"

He grimaced. He definitely grimaced. But then, his eyes twinkled, the joyful twinkle that they had a tendency to exhibit when he was about to bore the concrete pants off of someone.

"You know something Mrs Landingham?

No. She didn't. But she suspected she was about to find out.

The President picked up an apple from the bowl, then spoke again, ""If you have an apple and I have an apple and we exchange these apples then you and I will still each have one apple."

Mrs Landingham groaned inwardly. He was obviously feeling philosophical today, but she was sure as hell she had no idea what he was talking about. Not that he was done anyway.

"But if you have an idea and I have an idea and we exchange these ideas, then each of us will have two ideas." He finished with flourish and smiled at her, "Do you know who said that?"

She pretended to give it some thought, although she'd had her answer ready for some time; a name plucked from the multitude that the other, less mature assistants talked about on a regular basis, "Was it George Clooney Sir?"

"Ha!" The President clicked his fingers, "Close but no cigar. It was George Bernard Shaw. And do you know what George Bernard Shaw said about cookies?"

"No Sir, what did George Bernard Shaw say about cookies?" The words tripped off of her tongue without thinking, it was habit humouring him like this, a dance of habit that they danced what felt like several times a day.

Again he smiled, "He said if the President wants a cookie you should let him have a cookie." He made a swift move for the cookie jar, but Mrs Landingham was faster and had it out of his reach before he even came close. She clutched the jar to her chest protectively before looking up at him once more and giving him sass as only she could.

"And you know what I say Mr President? If you've touched the apple you eat the apple." she nodded in the direction of the apple he was still holding in his hand, "No cookies for you, you'll spoil your lunch."


	2. B is For Baby Food

**B is for Baby Food (Josh / Donna)**

**The Strange Tale of The Assistants and the State of Union**

"There's something weird going on."

"Weird?" Josh looked up to find Sam sat in his guest chair, a perplexed look on his face, "I don't know why you're so surprised. We're what," he glanced at his desk calendar, "72 hours away from the State of the Union. I'd have thought you'd be used to Toby pacing his office, howling and turning an odd range of colours by now."

"That I'm used to." Sam conceded. "Its Ginger. She's eating little food. All the assistants are."

Now it was Josh's turn to look perplexed, "Little food? Eerily little? Like for midgets or something?" He'd been half joking, but to his surprise Sam nodded.

"Well, almost midgets. Babies actually. They're eating baby food, from little jars."

Working in the White House, Josh thought nothing could surprise him any more, but Sam's latest piece of news managed to do just that. He looked at him curiously, "They're eating baby food? The mushy stuff?" He couldn't imagine anything worse, except for maybe his own cooking which tended to be a bit on the hit and miss side. "Why would they do that?"

Sam shrugged, "I don't know."

Josh stared out of the door to his office, to the bull pens beyond, and one bull pen in particular, "Donna too?"

"Donna too." Sam confirmed.

He got to his feet, moved to the door, and then out to Donna's desk where he found her on the phone, doing one of the many menial tasks he'd set her to do that day, in between eating spoonfuls of - he squinted to see the label - mango and pear puree. Yuck.

Her call continued, and so he opened her desk drawer for something to do, and found jar after jar of sludgy looking food mush. Odd. Very odd. And his actions must have irritated her because she quickly wound up her phone call and looked at him in a cross way that only Donna could,

"What are you doing?"

"Me?" he gestured to the drawer, "What are YOU doing? You're like 25 years too old for this stuff."

She said nothing at that point, just stared down into her pot of mango and pear goop, her cheeks turning an interesting shade of pink.

"Donna?" he tried again, "This is a conversation. I'm waiting for some kind of response."

Eventually she looked up, "It's a diet."

"A diet?" he was incredulous, "Baby food is a diet?"

She nodded, still blushing, "You eat 14 jars a day, and nothing else. Jennifer Aniston did it."

He looked at his assistant, his perfectly sized, perfectly petite assistant and shook his head, "Jennifer Aniston needs to. You don't."

At his words she blushed just a little bit more, "I'll be stood just behind you at the State of the Union. I'll be on TV. The camera adds 10lbs."

He laughed then. He didn't mean to, and instantly regretted it because he knew she'd think he was ridiculing her but he couldn't help it. It was insane. "Even if the camera does add 10lb, you'd still look perfect."

There was a moment of silence and he knew what it meant, it meant she was waiting for the funny. The wisecrack. But there wasn't one. He reached into her drawer, pulled out the various jars and dropped them into her waste bin.

She let out a squeal.

"That was my lunch! And my dinner!"

"No." he said, firmly and masterfully, because he knew that was how she liked him best, "We're ordering pizza for lunch, and I'm buying you dinner at Forman's. Same tomorrow. And then, at the State of Union I'll have you beside me instead of behind me, and you know what Donna?"

She looked at him quizzically, obviously taken aback by his show of manly dominance, "What?"

He grinned, "You'll still look perfect. You always do."


	3. C is for Campbell's Soup

C is for Campbells Soup (Jed / Abbey)

**Sex, Soup, and Artistic Snobbery**

"Well," Jed Bartlet stood back, eyeing the artwork on the wall critically, "I think becoming First Lady has gone to your head." He turned to look at his wife, peering at her over the top of his glasses, "I think the whole pomp and ceremony of the inauguration has sent you completely insane." It had to have done, it was the only way he could explain the eyesore in front of him. "For the love of God Abigail what is this?"

Abbey gave him her patented sulky look. "You know full well what it is. Its art."

He rolled his eyes, becoming increasingly frustrated with her, "Abbey, it's thirty two pictures of tins of soup."

"JED!" she threw her hands up in the air, clearly getting as irritated by him as he was getting by her, "It's Andy Warhol's Campbell's Soup Tins. The originals. As lent to us for our shiny and white new home by the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art in New York. At my request."

"How kind of them." He retorted, "Do you think they'd be so kind as to take it back again? At mine?" He shook his head despairingly, "Honestly Abbey, when I heard that we got to take our pick from the National Archives, I had hoped you'd come back with something a bit more classic. A Manet maybe, a Renoir, you know, something we could brag to the folks back home about."

"I'll be bragging about this back home." Abbey snarled, stepping in front of the monstrosity protectively. "And you, Josiah, are an artistic snob." Her words prompted a memory in him and suddenly, he couldn't help but laugh.

"You did this on purpose."

Abbey winked, her anger apparently fading away, as a beam spread across her face. "You bet I did. You know why?"

He moved closer to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her body tightly up against his, "We've seen this piece of 'art' before. In that gallery in LA. On our honeymoon. It prompted our first row as man and wife."

She looked up at him, a sassy look in her eyes, "And our first make up sex."

He kept hold of her, but turned his head to look at the Warhol again before turning his attention back to her, "You're a philistine."

She grinned, then repeated her earlier line, "And you're an artistic snob."

Two minutes later, and with an audience of thirty two soup cans, they were having sex.

xxx

"Did you get me a Renoir too?"

It was an hour later. They were cuddled up, each half dressed in the outfit he'd been wearing at the kick off, him the trousers, she the shirt. Their bodies were entwined, and they were both exhausted. As make up sex went, it had been lengthy and energetic. At his question, she smiled and then nodded. "Of course, and a Manet too. But," she said, adding a proviso, "The soup tins stay."

He glanced up at the piece of art once again, then leant in, and kissed her.

"Abigail, I wouldn't have it any other way."


	4. D is for Donuts

D is for Donuts (Leo / Senior Staff)

**The Meeting**

Leo was fast losing patience. Thirty minutes earlier, the senior staff had started a meeting debating an issue that had now long since slipped out of his mind. They continued to debate, but the point of the argument was lost, amid a substantial amount of head crashing between Sam and Toby.

The reason behind the head crashing? Simple. Sam was in a 'can do, will do' mood, and Toby was in a 'its never gonna happen' one. Quite frankly, the resultant bickering was just plain tiresome, and apparently never ending.

To his left, Josh appeared to be attempting to look up Mandy's skirt. Normally Leo might have reprimanded him for it, but not that day. He didn't blame Josh for looking for a distraction, if he'd been a lesser man, he might have given it a go himself.

To his right, CJ was picking at a donut, apparently disinterested in the conversation that was going on. Again, there was no blame to be apportioned there. Suddenly though, she looked up, a metaphorical light bulb appearing over her head, leaving Leo to wonder if he might have underestimated her, even more so when she cut into Toby and Sam's sniping.

"Can I say something?" she asked Leo, a serious expression on her face.

He nodded, "Go right ahead."

She looked down at the donut and then over at Toby and Sam, "Between the optimist and the pessimist, the difference is droll. One sees a donut and the other a hole. I have made this observation, I'm looking at you two, and that is all."

As CJ sat, an amused expression on her face, clearly inwardly laughing at her own joke, Leo could only fight the urge to groan. All the more so when Mandy piped up,

"That's pretty funny CJ. Is that Dr Zeuss?"

CJ beamed, "No. Oscar Wilde. And it IS funny. Don't you think Leo?"

Leo shook his head, not amused by CJ's class clown antics in the slightest. He eyed her disapprovingly, "No."

She pouted, childishly, "I thought it was funny. And cultured. The President would like it."

He rolled his eyes, "So go and tell him then." He turned to Toby and Sam, "And you two, why don't you go outside and beat each other to a pulp. And as for you," his gaze landed on Mandy who was now smiling at Josh flirtatiously, genuinely or not, Leo neither knew nor cared, "and you," he finished up looking at Josh, "get a room…"

They trailed out, looking like kicked puppies and he felt a slight stab of guilt. Then again, it was nothing they didn't deserve; sometimes, between the infighting, the lechery, and the bad jokes, it was like he was dealing with a group of 8th graders rather than the Senior Staff of the President of the United States. It was a miracle they ever got anything done.

With peace restored in his office he sat back and reached for the last donut from the plate in front of him. He held it up peering through the hole and started to laugh.

On reflection, CJ's contribution had been pretty witty after all.


	5. E is for Eggs

E is for Eggs (Abbey / Josh)

**The Hangover**

Josh was dying. He was sure of it. Actually dying. As he dragged himself from his bedroom to the kitchen his head churned and his stomach throbbed, although the more he thought about it he was convinced he'd got the two the wrong way round. He just couldn't think straight, or swallow, or…

… anything.

He reached the kitchen and stumbled to the sink, grabbing a glass and leaning against the kitchen unit as he turned on the faucet to fill it. That was when he heard the chuckle from behind him.

"My God, I've seen critical care patients who look better than you do this morning."

He turned, unsteadily, and found Abbey sat at the kitchen table, an amused expression on her face. Given the fact that she was his boss's wife he thought he ought to explain himself, but his mind was so addled that what came next wasn't so much an explanation as just a couple of words stating the obvious.

"I'm sick."

She got to her feet, moving over to the fridge and started removing things from it, "I'm not surprised. Trying to match the others measure for measure of Havana Club was never going to end well for you Joshua."

The shear mention of Havana Club made him want to heave and so he distracted himself by asking a question, "Where are the others?"

She finished at the fridge and took her haul over to the counter, "Jed, Toby, Sam and Leo went to play a round of golf."

"Golf?" he looked at her incredulously. Leo he could understand, he'd not touched a drop, but the others? Golfing? After the night they'd had. She had to be kidding, although from the way she nodded he presumed probably not. Still trying to comprehend this fact he turned his attention to the final member of their happy little crew, "And CJ?"

Abbey smiled, "She was on my treadmill by 6, and in Jed's study by 7. Prep for next week."

"She's not human. She can't be." He threw himself down into a chair at the kitchen table and watched Abbey as she started putting items of food stuffs into a blender, "What are you doing?"

Her smile widened, "Hangover cure. Not my favourite one I grant you, but I don't have the facilities in house to hook you up to a saline drip."

"A saline drip?"

She nodded, "It's an old med school trick; two Panadol, an espresso and intravenous saline; the result? Instant recovery. " She explained, "I've spent countless hours with an IV in my hand hiding from my superiors in linen cupboards."

Josh laughed at her confession although it hurt his head to do so, "You might want to keep that to yourself though." He said, as she started whizzing the contents of the blender, the sound of which hurt his head even more, "Not sure that the American people need to know that about their First Lady."

"I'm not their First Lady yet." She pointed out, and of course she was right, but even his hangover couldn't keep Josh's cocky sense of confidence away.

"You will be."

"You'll jinx us." She put a glass of god knows what down in front of him, "Get that down you. The others will be back soon and Leo's scheduled debate prep; Jed's going to need you."

With a more than a hint of trepidation he picked up the glass and sipped it dubiously, and to his surprise, it not only tasted OK but, when he took a less delicate gulp it went down easily. He glanced at Abbey, "This is good. What's in it?"

"Strawberries, honey, the juice of a lemon, chocolate syrup for energy, green tea for detoxification." She ticked off the ingredients on her fingers as she said them, "Oh, and the special ingredient."

"Special ingredient?" he asked, before knocking back the rest of it and draining the glass.

"2 raw eggs."

At her words he felt the bile rise in his throat, and he dashed from the room, in search of the nearest bathroom, wanting to purge himself of 'the secret ingredient' just because of the mere thought of it.

Meanwhile, Abbey watched him flee, smiling knowingly. The truth was, that with no saline drip on offer, throwing up was the only hangover cure she knew, and past experience taught her that those eggs did it every time…


	6. F is Fondue

**F is for Fondue (Zoey / Senior Staff)**

**The Chain**

"Charlie and I thought you might like to come to the residence tonight. For fondue."

I expect some surprise. Naturally. They're the White House staff, I'm the First Daughter, they don't expect me to 'invite them over to the residence' let alone for something as cool as fondue. But I've got a fondue set, and they're my boyfriend's colleagues and anyway, dad has them over for chilli ALL the time.

And chilli is less cool than fondue. Because fondue is cool. And when no one says anything, I feel I should stress this particular point. "Fondue is cool." I turn to Charlie, "Fondue IS cool right? I mean you bought me a fondue set as a make up gift."

Before you ask, no, I won't tell you what he was making up for. None of your business. But it might involve him spending a cosy night in The White House with my dad when he was meant to be spending a cosy night in my dorm with me. Anyway, to avoid anyone in the room asking me that question, I turned to CJ who happened to be nearest and channelled the conversation firmly on to fondue, "You should see it, its cute, the fork handles have little mice on, because of…"

"the cheese? You reckon?" She sounds pissed but she's not pissed at me, I can tell that because of the way she's glaring at Charlie. She rounds on him furiously, "You gave her the fondue set? That was birthday gift!"

There's an awkward silence as I realise that my make up present came right at me as a second hand gift but before I can question it, Donna, who is following Josh round puppy style like always cuts in with a question of her own, "Who gives a twenty one year old man a fondue set as a birthday present? Is Charlie gay now?"

I open my mouth to say that he's not gay but he may well be single soon, but again I'm beaten to it by CJ who shrugs nonchalantly, "I'd forgotten his birthday. The stores were closed. It was in my office."

"It was in your office because I gave it to YOU as a birthday gift."

Suddenly, I forget my anger with Charlie. Suddenly things are interesting. And Toby is puce. A likely to explode shade of puce. Oh this is good.

And getting better.

"You needn't start." Uncle Leo. His usual cool, calm, collected self, but with an edge, "I gave that fondue set to you, a congratulations gift for getting Mendoza on the bench."

For a second time, Donna asks the question we're all mentally asking at this point, "Who gives a middle aged single man a fondue set as a congratulatory gift for appointing a judge to the Supreme Court bench?"

Leo shrugs, ala CJ, "The shops were shut. It was in my office."

I can see what's happening here. Can see where this is going… well kinda… it could be infinite… perhaps NO ONE in the world wants fondue set. Before I can question that though, my dad appears and looks around the room questioningly,

"What are we talking about?"

"Fondue." Donna supplies helpfully, but uncle Leo looks at her like he could happily strangle her and suddenly I know JUST where this is going and, sure enough,

"Ah. Fondue. Its good stuff." Dad turns to uncle Leo, "Remember that set Abbey and I bought for you and Jenny. It was exquisite. The fork handles were carved from the wood of aged pines from Switzerland into the shape of mice. Do you still have it or did you lose the custody battle?"

Uncle Leo says nothing, too busy trying not to laugh. Ditto the rest of us. Dad obviously took that as an uncomfortable silence because he quickly changes thesubject. Well, kinda. He looks over at Donna, "Why are we talking about fondue?"

Donna looks to me, clearly floundering. Luckily, I have the answer. I turn to my dad, smile my best baby daughter smile and tell him…

"Because dad, fondues are cool."


	7. G is for Ginger Ale

_G is for Ginger Ale_

"**To Leo" (Josh / Donna)**

He stared at the map. The map that at points during the campaign had been such a harbinger of doom and yet now was the greatest cause he'd had to celebrate in his entire life.

Yet he didn't feel like celebrating. Not one bit.

But in direct contradiction to that, he suddenly felt a presence behind him, and when he turned, it was to find Donna holding out a flute of Champagne to him. It felt so incongruous, so wrong, both the Champagne itself and the fact that Donna would think he would want it. She usually knew exactly what he wanted, exactly where he was at, and this, this wasn't it.

She smiled then though, and when she spoke, pushing the glass into his hands, he realised she was reading his mind. Like always.

"We're not celebrating the win. We're toasting Leo's life. He'd want that."

It was true, but there was a certain irony, that he couldn't believe Donna hadn't picked up on. After 8 years in the White House he thought she'd have lost that Wisconsin farm girl naiveté but apparently not.

"You want to toast the life of a drunk with an alcoholic drink."

She sipped her own drink, a wry smile on her face and when she answered him he realised he'd got her wrong all over again. She was no Wisconsin farm girl, not anymore. She'd come a long way.

"Its Canada Dry Josh. Leo used to drink toasts with it. He said it made him feel less like a social pariah than using orange juice."

He smiled too then, "Clever." He raised his glass, thinking of the boss who had taught him so much. Taught them ALL so much. Donna included. "To Leo."

Donna clinked her glass against his, "To Leo."


	8. H is for Hummus

H is for Hummus (or Hamos, Hommos, Hommus, Homos, Houmous, Hummos, Hummous or Humus)

**Poker Night Trivia (CJ / Jed)**

The President surveyed the cards he had in one hand, as with the other he plunged a carrot baton into a bowl of hummus. Then he paused, and looked around the table at his Senior Staff, assembled for a late night game of poker.

"Who can tell me," he ignored the discontented and unimpressed sounding sighs and ploughed on with his question, "How many alternative spellings there are for humus?"

At his side Toby chuckled sardonically, "Well I don't know Sir, which do you consider to be the official one?"

Being the President and all, he would have liked to think that Toby was genuinely interested in his little game, but truth be known he suspected that actually his Communications Director was displaying his penchant for sarcasm that had become world famous.

Not that he'd let a little thing like that stop him.

"H-U-M-M-U-S."

"Oh well in that case Sir," CJ said, grinning at him from her seat opposite his, "there would be another eight. Those being, H-A-M-O-S, H-O-M-M-O-S, HO-M-M-U-S, H-O-M-O-S, H-O-U-M-O-U-S, H-U-M-M-O-S, H-U-M-M-O-U-S and H-U-M-U-S. And they're all derived from the Arabic for Chickpea."

The President narrowed his eyes, looking at her with a distinct lack of amusement, "Claudia Jean, when your boss is trying to display his intellectual prowess, is it wise to try and out do him with your own?"

CJ opened her mouth to respond but Toby beat her to it, "I'm sorry Sir? Intellectual prowess? About chickpea mush?"

"It takes all sorts." The President retorted, then got to his feet as Mrs Landingham appeared in the doorway, signalling that he needed to take a call. He was almost out of the room when he heard a whispered exchange from behind him.

"You are freakishly knowledgeable about Hummus Ms Cregg."

"Yes Toby, I am. Largely as a result of looking it up on Wikipedia when I saw the bowl on the table tonight because our boss is just too darn predictable."

He paused, before turning to face her, dislaying his best 'angry face', "You cheated Claudia Jean. You cheated and you lied. And you, the Press Secretary to the President of the United States of America."

His Press Secretary grinned at him, slightly abashed, and then answered in the manner most befitting her position,

"No comment Mr President, no comment."


	9. I is for Ice Cream

I is for Ice Cream

**Waiting on Zoey (Abbey / Jed)**

He found her on the porch, a tub of ice cream in one hand, and the spoon she was using to repeatedly dig into it in the other. At first he laughed, made a crack about the irony of their kids not being allowed to eat sugar when their mother was apparently allowed to eat it by the bucket load, but as he moved nearer, and saw the tears in her eyes, he realised his quip was ill timed.

"Abbey." he sat down beside her, concerned by the tear tracks in her mascara, and the fact that ice cream was all but gone. This was clearly a party of wallowing self pity that has been going on for some time. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

She didn't even look at him, instead crying harder, "I'm what's wrong. And nothing's happened, nothing at all. So that's nothing new." The frustration in her voice, the abject desperation, and anger that she was directing so vehemently at herself made it pretty clear what was wrong. He reached out, wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"Not this month eh?"

She let the now empty ice cream container fall to the floor, the spoon clattering down alongside it as she leant into his arms, her tears now uncontrollable.

"Not this month. Not any month. What if I can't get pregnant Jed? What if we can't have another baby."

He knew what the logical answer was. The logical answer was that they already had two beautiful daughters so if she didn't get pregnant a third time, well, they were already blessed twice over and they should accept that. But he also knew Abbey. And he knew the logical answer wasn't what she wanted to hear. He planted a kiss in her hair,

"You can get pregnant, we know you can. And you will."

"We've been trying for five years." She sounded like her heart was breaking, and that in turn broke his heart. All the same, he forced a smile, wanting to reassure her,

"And I enjoy the 'trying', so we'll try for five years more." he said, before quickly adding an addendum, not wanting to give her the chance to play the medical doctor and protest that her body might not give them five more years to try, "But I bet we won't need to. I bet next month will be our month, and then in a few years from now you'll have yet another poor child to deprive of candy."

Finally she smiled, getting to her feet, "Thanks Jed." she held her hand out to him, "I think there's another quart of ice cream in the freezer, you want to split it with me before the girls get home?"

He nodded, "Sure. Sounds good." And it did. Truth be known, he was as disappointed about the baby as she was.


	10. J is for Jerusalem Artichokes

J is for Jerusalem Artichoke

**Soup (CJ / Jed)**

The day wasn't going quite as CJ would have liked. The rabble were rousing, and now, as she was facing something of a lowlight of her political career, things had got just that little bit worse.

"Can I speak to your privately Leo?" she asked, hopefully, hoping that the President who just happened to be in Leo's office when she'd stopped by would take the hint and take himself back off to The Oval Office.

No such luck.

"You have secrets with Leo? Are the two of you planning a coup?"

Behind the President's back Leo rolled his eyes at her but did nothing to get rid of him, instead encouraging her to share what she'd come to say.

She groaned inwardly, cursing the world, "There's a problem. I'm getting questions."

The President's eyes narrowed, "About what?"

She glanced down at her notepad, anything to avoid looking him in the eye, "The dinner tomorrow night. The Israeli Ambassador is due to attend."

"Go on." The President again. Leo was being demonstrably silent and doing nothing to save her. She took a deep breath,

"We're serving Jerusalem Artichoke soup." She allowed herself the smallest peek at Leo who predictably was grinning, clearly aware of where she was headed. Unlike the President who was apparently suddenly displaying an unusual level of ignorance. "And some of the press are having a problem with the symbolism."

"The symbolism?" She saw a sudden flash in the President's eyes as the pieces fell into place, "The press have a problem with the symbolism of the soup. They do realise that Jerusalem itself isn't in the soup don't they Claudia Jean?"

She sighed. Bad to worse. "Yes Sir, I think they are aware of that."

"And do they realise that Jerusalem Artichokes don't even come from Jerusalem?"

She nodded, "I suspect they do Sir. They may too be aware, as I am, that they are not even artichokes. However the fact of the matter is they have an issue with the Israeli Ambassador being served up Jerusalem Artichoke Soup in The White House, and I suspect the Palestinians won't be crazy about the symbolism either."

"It's a root vegetable Claudia Jean." he was off on one now, she'd seen this before, "You really think the Middle East is going to go to war over a root vegetable?" There was a silence as both she and Leo allowed him to contemplate his own question, and then, seconds later he sighed, shaking his head,

"OK. Fine. Lets not tempt fate by finding out." he looked at Leo, "Who do we have to speak to round here to get the soup replaced with a nice shrimp cocktail or something?"

CJ smiled, a smile of serious relief, "Leave it with me Mr President, I'll arrange it with the kitchen myself."


End file.
